


Indecent Exposure

by Cloudnine101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Matchmaking, Coming Out, Crushes, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Parent Dean, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5172020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I need you to ask Claire Novak to the prom so her dad will agree to date me," Dean blurts out in a rush.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ben raises one eyebrow.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>Dean and Castiel are pining dorks in love, and their kids end up (accidentally) bringing them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indecent Exposure

Halfway through the second unisex middle-school soccer match to occur that season, Castiel corners Dean. He's wearing a long, black coat and blue knitted fingerless gloves. Dean focuses in on them, trying to avoid blushing like a five year old. (It doesn't work.)

Castiel's breath smokes in the night air. His cheeks are flushed pink. There's the faintest trace of beard scruff growing around his chin. "Hello, Dean," he says.

"Hey, Cas." Dean tries for a smile, which is quickly lost because _holy hell those eyes_ \- "How are things?"

Castiel drums his long fingers against bullying the railing. His nails are blunt half-moons. His knuckles are white - he must be too cold, or something. Dean knows that he is. His own hands are stuck in his pockets. Dean should really have a word with him about buying full-length gloves, if he's having trouble. He could probably have a pair of Dean's.

On the pitch, Ben's gritting his teeth, about to go in for a tackle. Dean stares, transfixed; the girl tries to manoeuvre the ball around Ben's feet, but ends up tripping sideways. Gliding smoothly, Ben takes the ball, and kicks it forwards. Grabbing hold of the girl's arm, he pulls her upright. She shakes him off.

"That's your kid, isn't it?" Dean says, and points to the girl. "I've seen her with Ben."

As if on cue, Ben looks across at them, and grins broadly - his hair's mussed and wild, eyes shining. Dean gives him a thumbs-up.

"My daughter," Castiel says, out of the blue, "has a crush on your son."

Dean stares at him, feeling the cold and the numbness but also a sharp stab of pride - because yeah, of course girls crush on his kid. Who wouldn't? "Okay. So?"

"So," Castiel continues, speaking very, very slowly, "don't you think it's our responsibility to - help out? As parents, I mean."

Dean blinks. "You want us to set up our kids," he says.

"That's about the sound of it, yes." Castiel settles back into the chair, looking far too pleased with himself. Dean can't help but notice the way his jumper rides up his chest, exposing just the tiniest slither of skin beneath. "It wouldn't have to be anything inappropriate. We'd need to be subtle."

A whistle is blown. Cas's daughter - Carmen, Dean thinks, racking his brains desperately - is led off to one side, leg dripping with blood. A taller boy in an orange vest follows her, wringing his fingers.

Dean puts up his hands. "Hold it," he says. "You're acting as though I've agreed to this."

Castiel tilts his head to one side, eyes widening. His glasses slip down his nose. "You have," he says. "Haven't you?"

Dean sighs, slumping downwards, and mutters, "Yeah. Where do we start?"

Castiel grins gleefully. Surging forwards, he places both hands on Dean's wrists, and holds Dean's gaze. Dean swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "Junior prom is in two weeks."

Dean nods. "Yeah. Ben told me. Didn't sound too keen, though."

"It would make Claire very happy to go with Ben."

Not Carmen, then. Dean files that away for later.

"So how do we go about this? I can't just go up to him and ask."

"Why not?" Castiel's right palm comes to rest on Dean's shoulder, soft and gentle. Dean's stomach flips like an oversized pancake. "It would be the most honest route. Perhaps he considers his feelings unrequited."

Dean hums. "Maybe." Right now, though, he can't really think about it - because though Ben's his top priority, Castiel freakin' Novak is about two feet away and friggin' gorgeous - and this is the precise reason why Dean decided to stay away from him. So he wouldn't get caught up in situations like this.

"Let us begin our endeavour at once," Castiel says - and before Dean has a chance to process that, the warmth his gone, and Castiel's striding away, coat-tails flapping around him. Dean watches until he's reached the drinks stand, and is almost out of sight - to buy something for Claire, presumably. A small smattering of clapping distracts him. Somebody's just scored.

Dean tries not to think too deeply on that. 

 

.

 

The next morning is a Saturday. Ben's got squash practice is at twelve, which means that, it now being eight, Dean's got a small window of opportunity.

Half an hour later, Dean hears the familiar thudding on the landing. At nine, Ben hauls himself downstairs, blinking blearily. Dean smiles, fondness surging in his chest. He can remember himself being just the same. Cas probably wasn't, though. Dean can't imagine him tired, never mind asleep.

"Hey, son," Dean says, and internally cringes.

Been peers at him sleepily. "Pancakes?" he says. "What's the occasion?"

Dean waves the spatula, and then realises just how lame it looks. He puts it down. "No occasion," he says. "Just wanted to wake my boy up."

Ben's eyes narrow. "There's something," he murmurs. "What is it? And please don't say Uncle Sam wants me to stay over again. I hate my cousins. It was bad enough the last time."

Yeah. It's official. Ben's too smart for this.

Dean sets the spatula down. Outside the window, a bird twitters (way too happily, in Dean's opinion). "You know you love your cousins," he says, but even he can hear the lack of heart in it. "Besides, they'll grow. They're - maturing."

Ben snorts. "I sure hope so. Didn't one of them run you over with a pedal-bike?"

Dean flinches at the memory. He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah," he says, and switches off the hob. Ben advances slowly. Dean faces him. "That happened."

"And cousin Bobby drew on your face while you were sleeping," Ben continues ruthlessly, a cunning gleam moving across his features, "and auntie Jess stopped you from making pie at Christmas, and - "

"Alright, alright, you've made your point." Sighing, Dean turns to face Ben, who, at some point, has picked up a cookie and begun to munch on it. "You know what we were talking about the day? About principals?"

Ben's nose crinkles. "No," he says. "We've never spoken about that."

"Well, we should've done." Squatting, Dean places his hands on Ben's shoulders. "Sometimes, we've all gotta do things that we don't wanna do for the sake of others. So that other people can - can achieve long-standing goals, which are very important to them. Does that make sense?"

Ben steps away, leaving Dean poised in mid-air. He straightens. "Dad," Ben says. "Just tell me already. Seriously."

"I need you to ask Claire Novak to the prom so her dad will agree to date me," Dean blurts out in a rush.

Ben raises one eyebrow. "Huh." Taking a step forwards, he drains his glass of orange juice (which - how?) and sets it down on the table. Cookie crumbs cover the rim. "Sorry, dad. But no. Claire's my friend. We aren't - like that. And even if we were, I don't believe in prom. It's an outdated method of our patriarchal society to matchmake the younger generation."

Dean nods. "Okay," he says. "But you've still gotta ask her."

Ben sighs. He rakes his hands through his hair, and takes a deep breath. "Dad," he says. "I'm going to say something that may come as a surprise to you, so - you might want to sit down."

"Uh," Dean says, and pulls out a chair. Ben pulls himself up onto the counter. His legs drum against the surface. "You haven't kicked since you were six years old."

Ben's legs pause. "Sorry. Nervous." He chuckles. Dean laughs, too. And then there's quiet. "You know that time I went to Jesse's house for a sleepover?"

Dean nods, smiling. "You came back covered in sugar," he says. "I had to stand you in the shower for twenty minutes."

Ben smiles. "Yeah," he says, "except - I might not have told you everything. Or anything, really. About it. Um."

Dean blinks. "Do you think I'm mad at you about that? 'Cause me and Uncle Sam did way worse things at your age." Snickering fondly, Dean watches the parade of catapults and tree-houses swim across his vision. "Whatever you've done, I can handle it."

"I'm gay," Ben says. "I know this might be shocking, but - I mean, don't be mad, or anything, 'cause - "

A stone settles in Dean's chest. Ben's staring at the ground. "Okay. First up, I'm not mad at you. Never gonna be. Your sexuality's a part of you."

"But you're bi," Ben says. "I'm never gonna like girls. Ever."

Dean shrugs. "That's fine. Girls are weird, anyway." Ben giggles at that - Dean's counting it as a way. Lifting his finger up, he wipes a tear off Ben's cheek. "Listen, buddy. I'm not angry. I'm proud. Thank you for telling me."

Ben's eyes are bright. Dean steps closer, and scoops Ben up in his arms. Ben giggles against his chest. "Thanks," he snuffles. "Can you put me down now, please? Only I have to get to squash, or else - "

"You won't be able to see Jesse?" Dean rolls his eyes - 'cause really, how did he not stop this? "Get your bag, shmuck."

Still, Ben lingers. "It was stupid to try to use me, though. I mean, come on. If I liked her, I'd ask her on my own. Right?"

Dean stares at his feet. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. Sorry, buddy. Wasn't thinking."

Ben chuckles. The sound shakes. "Hey. I forgive you. You're my dad. You're allowed to be a moron sometimes. Just - not _all_ the time." Ben's lip curls upwards. "You really fancy this guy, huh? Must be someone special."

Dean splutters. "Uh - yeah, he's - he's nice."

"Claire's dad..." Ben peers into the distance. "Can't really see where you're coming from. Isn't he a bit - random? Like, he stares at people super hard. And sometimes, he'll forget all about Claire, and he'll just wander off. To look at the stars, or something. Once, Claire missed her lacrosse lesson."

"To look at the stars," Dean echoes, and can't fight down a grin. "Sounds like him."

"Oh no," Ben says. "You've got that look on your face - the scary one. I'm going, going, going - getting my bag, getting my - " Ben scrambles forwards, snatches it off the table and retreats, clutching his gym bag to his chest.

"Let's go, buddy," Dean says, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Ben leaps away. He goes for the door in a flurry of trainers. Dean follows him out. 

 

.

 

Dean spends Sunday in a fog of deliberation. On the one hand, there's no way in Hell he's making Ben go to the prom with Claire - even asking him in the first place was a douche move. But on the other hand, there's the reason he made that douche move. And that was a good reason.

"Dad," Ben says, " _agh_ isn't a word. You're normally better at this."

Staring down at the Scrabble board, Dean sighs. "You're right," he says. "I guess I'm not concentrating hard enough, huh?"

"Or at all." Ben places his elbows on his knees, and peers at him. "Is this about Claire Novak's dad? Because you want to date him."

Dean shakes his head, turning scarlet. "Uh - no. What? No."

Ben frowns. "But you said you did. You said that you wanted me to ask Claire out so that Castiel Novak would ask you out."

"I did, didn't I?" Sometimes Dean hates having the biggest mouth in Lawrence - or possibly the whole of Kansas. "Yeah."

"To liking him, or that you're worried about it?"

"Both."

Ben nods seriously. "Uncle Sam says that when you like someone, you have to step up to the bar and tell him."

"How are you supposed to do that?"

Ben shrugs. "Dunno," he says. "But it sounds serious."

"A lot of the stuff Uncle Sam says is." Dean sweeps a hand over his tiles, and deliberates. "I've got an _a_. What can I do with that?"

"Take your turn again," Ben tells him. He's got freckles in winter - Dean's own little freak of nature. "And this time, do it properly."

 

.

 

That night, they stay up late watching movies - or, at least, they plan to. Ben wraps himself around Dean on the sofa half an hour into the first episode. By the time Joey's started speaking again, he's fast asleep, making little burbling noises into Dean's chest. Running a hand through his hair, Dean smiles downwards. Ben blows raspberries while he sleeps.

"Love you, buddy," Dean murmurs, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Somebody laughs on screen; Dean looks back, as Ben clutches onto the side of his shirt.

In the end, Dean carries Ben to bed. He moves quietly - can't wake him up - and even though the stairs creak, by some miracle, Ben stays snoring. Drawing the sheets up to his chin, Dean steps backwards. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans back in the doorway, watching Ben breathe.

"Gotta be brave, little guy," Dean says. He blows him a goodnight kiss, and shuts the door. Then he crosses the landing, tip-toeing, and heads off to bed. He sleeps dreamlessly, which is new - normally, blue eyes feature, and a certain soft smile. 

 

.

 

Castiel's house is nice. It's white, with honeysuckle winding up the trellises. It looks like something out of a storybook - the kind of house Dean would've dreamed about when he was young. Something about it makes his stomach clench.

There's no guarantee Castiel will be in, of course - but Dean has a sneaking suspicion he might be, and he can't find any excuse to stop trusting his gut now. But it's the weekend. He could be anywhere.

Mustering up his courage, Dean walks up the steps, and rings the doorbell. The doormat's red, and has Welcome written on it in white letters. Dean almost doesn't want to stand on it.

The door creaks open. Dean steps back with a start, almost tumbling down the porch steps. A hand steps out to steady him, curling around his arm - Dean's head jerks up, and there's Castiel, in bumblebee pyjamas and sporting a truly enormous bed-head, lips pink and plush.

"Is this a bad time?" Dean gets out. "'Cause I can come back later. I just wanted to talk."

Castiel shakes his head, gums revealed as he yawns, showing his pearly whites. "Come in, please," he says. "I insist."

And who's Dean to argue with that?

 

.

 

"Nice place," Dean comments, and is rewarded by Castiel's lopsided smile. The house is a hodge-podge - there are books on every surface, crammed into crannies and stacked high to the ceiling. Beneath it are endless tables and couches, holding cup after cup of coffee. There's a bright blue Barbie castle in the corner, too.

"It's Claire's," Castiel says, seemingly in answer to Dean's last thought. "I like to see her happy."

"Yeah," Dean says. "I get the feeling."

For a seconds they don't move. Castiel's eyes bore holes in Dean's. Dean is struck by the sensation of being under the microscope, only in a way that makes his heart swell up. (It doesn't make much sense to him, either.)

They sit down. Castiel gets back up, and without another word shuffles off into the kitchen. Dean peers around, admiring the pictures on the wall. Most of them are photographs - there are a couple of sunrises, and even one of a beehive, too. Dean gets stuck on an image of Claire, tiny and beaming on Castiel's shoulders.

"Her mother took that photograph," Castiel says. Dean jerks his head around. Castiel's standing still, back ram-rod straight. He's gazing fondly, eyes soft. "She passed away when Claire was six. We found it - difficult."

"I'm sorry," Dean says. "I know - how it feels. I mean, I don't know exactly, but - my old man's gone, too. A couple of years ago, now."

Castiel nods. "Thank you," he murmurs, "I appreciate it."

Dean glances down. "Glad I could help."

There's a creaking sound, before him; by the time Dean glances up, Castiel's staring into his coffee as though it holds all the answers in the universe. Dean hovers, unsure how to proceed. Castiel saves him from starting.

"It appears I mis-read my daughter's intentions towards your son dramatically." Castiel's eyes turn to him. Dean's heart skips a beat. "I can only apologise. I thought I was doing what was best for Claire, but instead I attempted to force her into a position in which she was uncomfortable."

"Me too," Dean admits. "Ben came out to me yesterday."

Castiel chuckles. "Oh," he says, "then we were both wrong."

Dean shrugs. "Everybody makes mistakes."

Taking a long gulp of his coffee, Castiel finally meets his eyes, rueful. "My apologies. This early in the morning, I am not - myself."

"You do know it's midday, right?"

Castiel blinks. "Is it? I didn't notice." Shaking his head, Castiel wrings his hands together. "In truth, I was awake most of the night. Claire's having a sleepover."

"Hey, you don't have to be worried. She looks like she can handle herself." Castiel chuckles; Dean resists the urge to punch the air. "So, where's she staying?"

"It's only a couple of miles away." Castiel's eyelashes flicker against his cheeks; there are bags below his eyes. Dean would like nothing more than to swoop him up in his arms. "This may seem forward, Dean, but - I have come to consider you a friend, after all of our years together, and I - could use the support, this afternoon. The house is far emptier without her in it."

By Dean's sides, his hands curl into fists. He stuffs them into the pockets of his jackets. "It'd be my pleasure," he says.

 

.

 

They end up squashed together on the sofa, side by side. Dean can't help sneaking glances across. Cas doesn't seem to notice, though. He's watching some nature programme about whales - Dean tuned out ages ago. They've never been his thing. Apparently, they're Cas's, though. Dean could learn to deal.

"We could watch something else, if you're uninterested," Castiel mutters. "I don't want to bore you."

Dean blushes guiltily, caught in the act. "It's not that, man, it's - "

Castiel turns to him. "What is it, then?"

Dean gulps. "Nothing," he says.

"Dean." Castiel moves closer to him. He touches Dean's cheek. Dean is frozen in place, mind a continuous burr of what in hell's name is happening? Meanwhile, Castiel is doing nothing to take his touch away. Instead, his fingers sweep lower, arching along Dean's cheek. "You know you can tell me things. Don't you?"

Dean nods, aching - because he can't, can't, won't. "Yeah," he croaks. "Sure."

Castiel looks at him, face perfectly level. Dean can't tell what he's thinking. "Good," he says. "I wouldn't want you to be uncertain around me. I want to - " Castiel stops, and looks away; this time, it's Dean's turn to move closer.

"What is it?" Dean asks, and is surprised - Hell, shocked - when Castiel's throat bobs. "Hey. You okay?"

Castiel smiles, but it's not his normal one. Something about it seems strained. "It's nothing," he says. "Don't worry. I'm fine."

"Cas," Dean says, and Castiel gasps - actually gasps, eyes flitting down. His hand drops as though he's been burned. Before it falls, Dean snatches it up, winding their fingers together. His heart's thudding out of his chest. Slowly, they begin to gravitate close. Castiel's cheeks are flushed. He looks lovely.

There's a cough. Castiel and Dean leap apart. Dean spins, just in time to see Claire lounge sideways in the entryway. There's a crinkling; Castiel smooths down his shirt, swallowing. Dean's glad to see he wasn't the only one affected by that.

"Don't let me interrupt," Claire says, voice biting sarcasm. Dean's never wanted to make somebody disappear so badly in his life.

"I'll see you some other time, Cas," Dean says, stands up, and walks out the door without looking back.

 

.

 

Dean would love to be able to say that Castiel appears at his house the next day, holding a bunch of roses and wearing some kind of a tux. Sadly, wishing doesn't always work. The doorway remains stubbornly empty. Even on the school run, where Dean would normally nod to Castiel daily (despite them not actually speaking), there's now no sign of him. If Dean didn't know better, he'd say that Cas was avoiding him - which would be ridiculous. Dean hasn't done anything wrong.

Or has he? Maybe Dean's interpretation of the Incident (as he's taken to calling it) was completely false. Maybe Castiel just wanted a friend around to chat to, rather than to have someone be completely smitten with him. Maybe he doesn't even want a relationship. Dean shouldn't be intruding on the life he has with Claire - there isn't any room for him, there. 

A couple of days later, Dean eventually sends a hurried text (redrafted about five or six times) thanking Cas for his hospitality. Castiel responds a few hours later (not that Dean was counting or anything) with a whole row of smiley faces. Dean holds his phone up to the light, just to check. He literally has no idea how to respond. Don't friends normally just send one?

Is it ridiculous for him even to be considering this? Ben's his number one. His everything. His rock. Dean doesn't want to risk hurting him - even if the kid has said, a number of times, in varying degrees of frustration, that Dean should just "get the guy, for crying out loud". Apparently, Ben's slowly crumbling to dust due to "death by pining".

Whatever. Kid's too nosy for his own good. So Dean pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind, and does his level best to pretend that nothing if wrong. And if the days stretch out a little longer than before, well, it's not as if he and Cas were ever that chatty, anyway.

And then it's prom night.

 

.

 

Dean pulls up outside the school building, and switches off the headlights. Ben's upright in the front seat, a nervous bundle of energy. Reaching across, Dean tugs him in for a hug; Ben squirms, and says, "Eww, Dad, stop."

Chuckling, Dean moves away, with one last pat to his head. "Knock 'em dead, kiddo," he says. Ben offers up a wave - and then he opens the car door, and climbs outside. His hair's a coppery halo. Dean gets a lump in his throat.

"Bye," Ben mouths through the glass, and Dean waves, heart in his mouth. On the other side of the car, there's a knock. Dean scoots around in his seat, prepared to give whichever asshole's interrupting the moment a piece of his mind. And then stops.

Castiel's staring at him, eyes blue and intense and narrowed, and strangely, strangely - weird. Dean doesn't know how to describe it. Not unhappy, but - discontent, maybe. That's probably the word.

Holding up a finger, Dean turns his back, and watches Ben walk off into the building, hands in his pockets, head down low. The door shuts behind him. Closing his eyes, Dean takes a long, steadying breath. He winds the window down.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas."

There's a silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of music from inside. Castiel shifts from foot to foot, gaze straying away.

Both men begin to speak at once.

"I know I overstepped," Castiel starts, at the same time Dean says, "Listen, if I messed this up - "

They both stop, and look at one another. "So," Dean says. "How'd you overstep?"

"By trying to kiss you," Castiel says flatly. "I thought that would be obvious."

Dean's mouth hangs open, his thoughts turning to white noise in the space of a second. Vaguely, he wonders if he'll catch flies.

Castiel's pale. "You didn't know?" he says.

"Nope," Dean replies, and leans forwards, and puts both hands on the side of his face. The beard scruff scrapes against the pads of his fingertips. Dean kisses Castiel. Their noses slot together - it's a little awkward at first, their faces mashed up close, and then they're kissing, really kissing, and Castiel's fingers are hooking into his collar, and Dean must be freakin' glowing. When they break apart, Dean's lightheaded.

"You could have told me earlier," Castiel grouses, and Dean grimaces.

"Guess we've both been idiots," he says, and Castiel shakes his head.

"I suppose we have," he agrees. "But that doesn't change anything, does it?"

Dean's floating; he's on cloud nine. A door bangs open. Dean barely even notices, too drunk on Castiel's touch, the warm flutter of breath against his lips. Castiel's eyes spark. His fingers tighten. Dean swallows.

"Oh my God," Claire yells, from somewhere in the background. "Get a room!"

Castiel rolls his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. Dean grins, too.

"So," Dean says. "Where do we go from here?"

"Home?" Castiel asks, apparently shy, and Dean can't help but kiss him again, because who even _says_ the kind of thing? 

"Yeah," Dean says, something a lot like happiness bubbling up in his stomach. "Sounds like a plan." 

Castiel's hands return to his shoulders, and then Dean's too busy to say anything else. 


End file.
